


Wake Up Call

by dakiniten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, First Time, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ron White reference, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dakiniten/pseuds/dakiniten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wake up call, caught you in the morning with another one in my bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up Call

**Author's Note:**

> Contains incestuous boysex, dirty talk, super-duper mild bondage/size kink, and a random Ron White reference. PWP, to be perfectly honest, although I’m constitutionally incapable of writing straight-up porn without at least a semi-plausible lead-in. Title and initial inspiration from “Wake Up Call” by Maroon 5. Lightning-beta by the wonderful byaghro, any errors are my own. I don't own anything, no money being made, I'm just playing in the sandbox.

Walking into the hotel room with his hands full of coffee and breakfast, Sam was expecting one of three things: Dean still asleep in the bed; an empty room, with the shower running behind the closed bathroom door; or Dean freshly showered, researching or watching television or just eagerly awaiting the arrival of the caffeine.

What he wasn’t expecting to see was Dean, naked but for a towel twisted around his hips, pinned to Sam’s bed by a long, sinewy creature bearing a strong resemblance to a coyote. It had Dean’s hands above his head, holding them with its paws, and it was licking – _licking_ – up the column of his brother’s neck. Dean’s eyes were half-lidded and his head thrown back, offering his throat to his attacker.

Sam was frozen on the spot for a moment. What the hell was going on here? But the spell was broken when the _thing_ bared its teeth, preparing to take a bite out of the elder Winchester. Breakfast and coffee hit the floor unnoticed as Sam drew his gun from where he’d tucked it in the back of his jeans. He got off two shots, _crack crack,_ hitting the monster in the temple and neck before it toppled off his brother and onto the floor.

Adrenaline took Sam across the room. He loomed over the coyote-thing with his gun trained on it, but it didn’t move. In fact, it was rapidly shriveling, drying out until it looked like a mummy. A seven-foot-tall dog mummy. _Creepy._ Then it started flaking away until all that remained was a trail of acrid dust.

Sam turned his attention to Dean, who was still lying on the bed, looking slightly dazed. He seemed to be coming back around to full awareness pretty quickly, though. Sam regarded Dean with a critical eye. He didn’t seem to have any surface injuries. In fact, the towel across his lap didn’t do much to hide the fact that at least one part of Dean’s anatomy was very interested in the proceedings. Sam swiftly looked away.

“What the hell, Dean? How did that thing get the drop on you? Even straight out of the shower, you should have been able to wrestle it off you.” Sam couldn’t settle on a place to focus; his gaze kept flitting from the creature, to Dean’s face, to Dean’s lap, to the ruined mess of their breakfast in the floor. At least he’d managed to close the door before dealing with…whatever that was.

“I thought…it took on a, uh, a different form. It didn’t look like…like that, when I saw it.” Dean peered at the corpse on the floor, tried to suppress the fine tremor that ran through him.

“What the hell could it have looked like, for you not to fight it off? A pretty girl? Didn’t you wonder how she got in the room? Or did you let it in? Jesus Christ, Dean, tell me you didn’t let it in.” Sam watched Dean’s face now, which was a little on the pale side, with a faint blush causing his freckles to stand out in harsh relief. Dean was purposely not meeting Sam’s eyes, which was strange. Dean would usually be immediately defensive, denying such a gross lapse in protocol, asking Sam what kind of greenhorn he thought Dean was. But he wasn’t doing any of that.

“It was already in the room when I got out of the shower. It just sort of…grabbed me. I, uh, it didn’t occur to me to question why it was in our room.” Dean was really starting to look uncomfortable. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, a foot or so from his brother.

“You weren’t fighting it, Dean. It was _licking_ you, and you weren’t even _trying.”_ He was very interested in the answer to that accusation – the behavior wasn’t Dean at all. The blush deepened, creeping into Dean’s chest. 

“I just…it didn’t occur to me, alright? I didn’t…I didn’t want to fight it. I fucked up, okay? I got it. I fucked up and I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Now _there’s_ a more Dean-like reaction, but it still wasn’t the whole story.

“You didn’t _want_ to? Were you under some kind of spell? You might still be under it, Dean, there’s no telling what that thing was and its effect may not end when it dies. Jesus, what if it makes you not want to fight anytime a monster attacks us? This is serious shit, Dean --”

“I wasn’t, I’m not under a spell, Sam. I just didn’t…” He sat up, scrubbed his hand over his face, and clenched his jaw. “It was you, okay? It looked like you, I thought it was you. That’s why I didn’t…that’s why. Okay? Can we just, you know, not talk about it anymore?” He rubbed at the back of his neck, still blushing like mad, looking anywhere that would keep Sam out of his direct line of sight. Sam tried desperately to put the facts in an order that made sense.

“So you came out of the shower and saw me in the room, no big deal.” Dean nodded. “Then I…grabbed you, and pinned you to the bed, and licked you, and you…it didn’t occur to you to fight me off.” Another nod, decidedly less enthusiastic than the first. “Because…because you didn’t…” The number of conclusions Sam could reach in this line of reasoning were pretty limited, but he struggled to get there all the same. “Because you didn’t want to fight with me? That’s bullshit, we fight all the time.” Only one left, then. Sam took a deep breath. “It didn’t occur to you to fight me off, because you didn’t want me to stop.” Dean ducked his head. No vehement denial, no rage, no disgust; just increasing embarrassment and discomfort and probably more than a little shame. Oh, _shit._

Sam took a moment to absorb this revelation. He observed the strong lines of Dean’s back, the tense set of his shoulders, his fingers clenched in the comforter of Sam’s bed. His skin was smooth, broken every so often with scars and dusted with freckles. And since Dean really prided himself on having no shame at all, Sam couldn’t rightly remember the last time he’d seen his brother blush like this. It was really rather fetching.

“Dean.” No response. _“Dean.”_ A little more steel in his tone this time; a tiny shiver rippled across Dean’s frame, but otherwise, nada. “If you don’t look at me, answer me, then I really will hold you down and find out for myself.”

Dean whipped around to face Sam, making eye contact and holding it. Sam was having trouble untangling the emotions playing across his brother’s face. Panic, fear, hope, challenge, _heat._ The heat was unmistakable, to Sam anyway. Sam had spent all of his life – aside from those years at Stanford – reading his brother like a book. He recognized the lust-blown pupils, the slightly parted lips, the sharp intake of breath that were giant blinking signs announcing Dean’s arousal.

“Answer me. You didn’t fight it off because you wanted me to pin you down and…what?”

“If I gotta tell ya, Sammy, then you’re not as clever as you think.” The cocky smirk was a little weak, but his voice didn’t waver. Before Dean could get his bearings enough to shrug this off and pretend it never happened, Sam decided to act.

He snapped the towel away, leaving a startled and very naked Dean. Sam didn’t take time to admire his brother’s body – don’t give him time to freak out – before grabbing Dean’s wrists and hauling himself over him, pinning him to the bed. Sam’s knees bracketed Dean’s thighs, and he was almost painfully aware of the fact that his clothes were the only thing separating them. He could feel his brother’s body heat seeping through his clothes to warm his skin. Sam knew his erection was probably pretty obvious, but he didn’t worry too much about it, since he could definitely feel Dean’s answering hardness beneath him.

“Is this what you wanted?” Sam rocked his hips a little, rutting against Dean, and squeezed his wrists a little harder. “Tell me. You wanted your baby brother to overpower you, hold you down and do…this?” He pressed slow, filthy open-mouthed kisses from Dean’s chest up his neck, sucking a deep purple mark right over his jugular. Dean’s heart was jackhammering, if the fluttering of his pulse was anything to go by, and his breath came in shaky, stuttering pants. His pupils were blown impossibly wide. “Tell me what you want, Dean.” Ducking his head so that his lips brushed the shell of Dean’s ear as they moved, Sam whispered, “You never know. I just might give it to you.”

“Jesus, Sam, you can’t just _say_ shit like that to me,” Dean growled, twisting his wrists a bit, testing Sam’s hold…but not really trying to dislodge him. If he truly wanted to, Dean could get Sam off him, and they both knew it. Sam adjusted his grip, holding both Dean’s wrists in one hand. It was a stretch, and wouldn’t be sufficient to hold him if Dean wanted loose, but Sam recognized that it was probably the _concept_ of Sam restraining him that appealed to his brother. With his free hand, Sam reached between their bodies and fisted Dean’s cock.

“Really? Enlighten me – what _can_ I say to you?” Dean was impossibly hard in Sam’s firm grip. Sam began stroking slowly, and Dean’s dick twitched at the rumble of his brother’s voice in his ear. “Can I say that you’re beautiful like this, all strung out with want, panting for it? Can I say that I want to fuck you through this mattress, make you so messy and debauched that the whole world knows you belong to me?” Dean was making some truly amazing sounds, hungry little whimpers and groans, as Sam started jacking him faster, setting a pretty punishing pace. His knuckles brushed against his own denim-covered cock with every stroke, and it wasn’t nearly enough, but combined with the noises Dean was making, it was pretty fucking awesome. “Or should I just shut up and suck your cock already?”

“Fuck, _Sammy,”_ was all the warning he got before Dean’s whole body tensed and he thrust up into Sam’s grip, coming in thick ropes over his own stomach and Sam’s hand and shirt. Sam coaxed him gently through the aftershocks, nipping at his ear and jaw and neck.

Then Dean’s hands were out of Sam’s grip, fingers threading through his hair and pulling their mouths together. Dean’s previous embarrassment seemed forgotten; he pressed his lips to Sam’s, licking into his brother’s mouth with abandon, exploring and caressing and worshipping. Sam felt suddenly like his heart had left his chest, risen into his throat and taken up residence just beyond the reach of Dean’s tongue.

Dean’s softening cock in his hand, Dean’s fingers twined in his hair, pulling him further into a frantic kiss, Dean’s tongue in his mouth, tasting like toothpaste and home, Dean’s come cooling between them, smelling like salt and musk and their sheets in the morning when Dean had first hit puberty – it was too much, too intense, and then Sam was coming, moaning into Dean’s mouth. He did have the presence of mind to collapse beside Dean, instead of on top of him, as he rode the endorphin rush back to lucidity. Their heavy breaths were the only sounds in the room for long minutes.

“So,” Dean finally spoke, breaking the silence. “Dead beastie, brain-melting orgasm, you coming in your pants like a teenager, and it’s not even,” he checked the clock, “nine o’clock. It’s gonna be a good day, Tater.”

“Did you seriously just call me Tater?” Sam couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. But before Dean could gloss this over and pretend it never happened, he did need to say one thing. “Just so you know, I’m cool. With this, I mean. To be honest, I think it’s about damned time.” And with that, he got up and headed for the bathroom. His shorts were getting cold and tacky, and he needed a shower. He flashed Dean a particularly adorable smile before closing the door behind him. There was silence from the other side of the door, at least until Sam turned on the shower.

“You dropped breakfast, bitch!”

“Collateral damage, jerk!” And just like that, they both knew that this thing between them? Was going to be just fine.


End file.
